


Control

by Mirabai0821



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Facials, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirabai0821/pseuds/Mirabai0821
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the thrill.<br/>It is the control.<br/>Cullen and his lady love engage in some bedroom play time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miraphora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/gifts).



> Posted this on tumblr earlier, liked it enough to post it here.  
> Part of an unknown and random smutfic exchange with miraphora/lustfulpasiphae.tumblr.com who writes amazing vignettes of her Inquisitor Mira and her badass best friend Elyse. Go read them. There will be a test.

It’s not the thrill, it's the control. She slips the blindfold over his eyes, cotton, not silk. A remnant from one of the scarves she used to tie her hair up. It smells like her, earthy and sweet, floral, it comforts him when he is deprived of sight. She watches with interest as his nostrils flare wide and he takes deep breaths, inhaling her, absorbing her through his other senses since he can no longer see.

 

He sits erect on their bed, back ramrod straight. Soldier’s don’t slouch and he is no exception. In truth, he can’t slouch because every nerve is electrified, heightened, aware, pulling all his muscles tense and straight. He is receptive to the displacement of air as she paces in front of him, gooseflesh rising with the gentle current.

 

She is deciding what to do with him. Where to start. She can’t choose, there’s so much of him, and she wants _everything._

 

A sharp nail scratches under his chin, lifting obscured gaze to her face. He feels an intangible pressure radiate across the bridge of his nose. His face is close to hers but they are not touching, he senses her. Feels her without feeling. Her breath is hot and ragged, blown sweetly across his mouth. He hears her lick her lips and he can imagine the dark brown flesh glistening in the low light, sweet like dates or deep red grapes.

 

“Trust me?”

 

She has to ask again because this is new for them both. He has put himself in her hands, surrendering his tight control for her manipulation, for her pleasure. For their pleasure. But she knows he can be fragile, he could fracture even in her tender hands.

 

Cullen licks his lips and replies simply. “Implicitly.”

 

He senses the smile and he craves the kiss with their lips so close. But she denies him, like she’s denied him sight, choosing instead to push him down upon the bed.

 

“Open your legs.” She asks gently.

 

He complies, pale thighs parting to reveal reddening, thickening flesh. He shivers. His vulnerability. Her power makes him shiver.

 

A nail scratches up the inside of his thigh and his cock jumps.

 

She does it again.

  
He responds, hissing through clenched teeth.

 

“No.” She corrects. “Let me hear you. Sing for me. You know I love your voice.”

 

Every nerve burns now, aching for even the lightest touch.

 

Another nail in another place, his neck, leaving a slight red mark against the softest skin he has.

 

He moans. Loudly. Not because she asked him too, but because it's all he can do.

 

He is splayed open for her, every part of him offered for her consumption.

 

Her lips are wet, ravenous.

 

Both pair.

 

So she chooses to satisfy both.

 

He feels the bed displace. She’s on it now crawling somewhere. Two depressions on either side of his head. His nostrils flare again and he moans because her scent, all woman, all wet, all tangy, sweet, and tantalizing, invades him.

 

His cock is dripping, pulsing with every thunderous beat of his heart. He wants relief, needs it, but he needs his mouth on her more.

 

“Please.” He begs. “Evelyn, please.”

 

She parts her thighs a little more to lower her cunt across his mouth.

 

She doesn’t need to order him, he obeys all on his own, hands and arms shooting up to grab hold and root her in place so he can get at her sweetness the best. Eager tongue parts her folds, and he whines when her nectar breaks across his palate like the headiest wine.

 

Intoxicating.

 

He is drunk in seconds.

 

Calculated ministrations break apart to wild and gluttonous feasting. He slurps and swirls at her, lapping at her tender pearl of satiny flesh.

 

She rocks her hips against his mouth, forgetting herself for just a moment, revelling in the sensation of her beautiful, holy templar lewdly fucking her with his tongue.

 

“Yes baby, yes, fuck yes.” He keens into her cunt, enjoying this as much as she does. Eager to bring her off on the virtue of his tongue alone.

  
But Evelyn remembers her purpose, and her mouth has a mighty need. He is confused when he feels her shift, but that confusion melts away to literally nothing as she takes his dripping, twitching, burning cock in her mouth.

 

“Fu-- Fuck! Evelyn! Maker!”

 

His swears melt into long moans as she bobs slowly on him, swallowing him down, pushing his head to the back of her throat, then up again, then down. A slow tortuous course of the the most divine pleasure. Under the blindfold he has to imagine and guess, and for a moment he thinks they look like some ancient Tevinter fresco of two lovers encircled with no beginning and no end.

 

She is his end and his beginning, killing him and making whole with her tongue pressed flat against his flesh, or curled around its tip. He moans into her, tongue pressed deepest, reaching for her very soul to tease out with a scream.

 

She runs her lips against the velvet flesh of him, pausing at the base to lay kisses and bites on his hips.

 

He can’t control, it is not his place to control. He thrusts into her mouth, he fucks her mouth. Whining piteously when her hands anchor his hips to the bed.

 

“Do not move.” She corrects and he fights to keep himself still. “And remember your purpose.”

 

At that he attacks her again, tongue spearing her little nub, the seat of her greatest rapture, as she swallows him whole. He wants to scream her name but he is so deep inside of her and she around him, he thinks, in the smallest part of him still capable, that their thoughts are shared.

 

And they are.

 

More.

 

Yes.

 

More.

 

_I’m coming._

 

Her satin and silk pulses with her completion and her thighs shake, unable to bear her weight and position. He drowns, drinking in her sensations and her, lapping until her shaking intensifies and she shatters again.

 

“Oh Maker Cullen Maker! Maker! Cullen!”

 

She swings a thigh over and away before she can collapse atop him. He hums, satisfied and smug, confident that he has pleased his lady well tonight.

 

But his lady is not done with him.

 

After frantic, jerky movements she is between his parted thighs devouring him, finishing her meal.

 

“Take it off!” She pants. “Watch me.”

 

And he complies for that too is part and parcel of her control.

 

Her hand grips and pulls, twisting at the apex of her slide, tongue snake like as it flicks across his head. He watches, muscles in his abs and thighs straining to hold back, helpless though against the tide of heat she summons with a smirk her lips parted around his cock.

 

“Evelyn! Maker! Yes!”

 

“Come for me Cullen, yes!”

 

She pulls back a little when he comes and he paints her across her chest and splatters a little on her cheek. He has the good sense to be embarrassed for a moment before he sees the hungry and debauched and _delighted_ look in her eyes that sets his desire aflame all over again. Higher even, in primal, urgent need, his pearly seed stark on her deep copper flesh. Marking her. Claiming her.

 

He takes his thumb and wipes up the errant stain across her cheek. He brings the digit to her lips, parts them, and she sucks, eyes half lidded in rapture.

 

And it is not the thrill that shivers through him at the sight of her sucking him clean

 

It’s the control.


End file.
